


Tales from the Frontier: Battle of Maia

by AlphaSp



Category: Original Work, Titanfall
Genre: Action/Adventure, Original Character(s), Science Fiction, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-11
Updated: 2017-06-19
Packaged: 2018-11-12 04:30:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11154279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlphaSp/pseuds/AlphaSp
Summary: This follows the journey of a new Pilot initiate, Jet Harper, and his titan, XC-3254 in their battle to take the planet of Maia, an IMC controlled trading port. Assault Operation 388 occurs two years after the destruction of Typhon and the IMC's doomsday Fold Weapon. The Militia has taken around 35% of Frontier space back at this point, and the revolution continues to gain momentum. This next attack will likely be the true turning point of the war, and the SRS needs as many pilots as they can get.





	1. The Pilot's Gauntlet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone. I'm still working on this, though it's taking quite a long time. Chapter 4 has a lot of narrative, and it's hard to get everything accurate to the titanfall universe.

"Of all the things I've seen on the battlefield of the frontier, the pilot is the true dominant force. Fast and agile. Graceful, yet devastating. Perceptive, resourceful, and relentless. A pilot sees the world differently. Sheer walls become flanking routes. Pilots fight differently. Experienced in deception and maneuver, even overwhelming odds shift in their favor. But what truly separates the pilot from all the grunts and machines of the battlefield, is the bond between a pilot and a titan. When linked to a titan, a pilot can only be stopped by overwhelming force, or an equal.”

\- Pilot Jack Cooper

* * *

 

Harper's Log— 02.34.4231.

Today's the last day of my pilot's certification training. We're not warming up in the sim-pods today, we're going right into the gauntlet, and then on to titan simulation. If everything goes well, by the end of the day I'll have my pilot's certification. I've been waiting for this day since entering the militia, since the day the IMC had transformed my home planet into nothing more than a junkyard.

Our drill instructor told us of a surprise that was coming today, as well- maybe this means the new titan class that the militia had supposedly been developing? I can only hope. Vanguard class titans are effective, but if we want to gain an upper hand, the militia has got to start making new advancements in the tech we use.

* * *

 

"Twenty minutes, initiates! Be at the gauntlet no later than then, if you want a chance at passing today. Fiar out." The loudspeaker crackles to silence, once again. Jet sits alone in his bunk, tossing aside the tablet. He tightens the straps on the uniform he received months ago, at the beginning of his training regime. The pouches, buckles, padding, and detection instruments were all in place. He stands, picking up his jump kit. It has been through a lot of use, and the outer shell of it showed that readily- between the scratches, dents, and peeling paint it was clear that it might be time for a new one. One that would better fit his role on the battlefield, perhaps. There are many designs of the kit out there, a device made to enhance a Pilot's movement throughout the battle, and Jet's was strange. It was designed for a cloaking pilot, with a lower profile and less defined exhaust ports. He had no intention nor desire to become one who moved with the shadows.

Strapping it to his waist, he steps towards the grey locker that lined the wall of the drab enclosure he had called home. Inside, his helmet hangs, one fit for the pilot he was about to become. Olive drab, with a blue wolf decal, each helmet is customized for each individual pilot. The computer on board holds each pilot's identification, and a link to their mission and personal logs. Slipping it over his head, the device powers up, with a display of his vitals, and the equipment he carries with him. Shutting the locker, a familiar yet somewhat unexpected voice rings out.

"Hurry up, Harper, we're going to be late!" It was Ali, his next door ‘neighbor’.

"I've got it handled, Tramea. Get going, you'll want to get your phase shift calibrated before the run today, right?"

"Fiar said no utilities, remember? You're gonna have to put that grapple of yours away!" she sung, mockingly. The grapple hook he had chosen was his lifeline, the one thing that helped him move around the field the most. Without it, a new cloud of worry swept over the young initiate.

"Wait, since when?!"

"Yesterday, afternoon briefing. Were you not there?"

"No, Ali, I was cleaning the sim-pods again. Damn Debeck can't keep his lunch down, and it was my turn that day."

She laughs. "Well, seems like you're gonna have a challenge!"

Jet scoffed, closed the locker, and followed Ali down the corridor. Not long later, they reached the gauntlet, and Commander Fiar. Her greetings were met with grumbles of tired, overstressed trainees.

“Come on, recruits. This is your last day! I’ve got to hand it to you, I’m impressed how many of you got this far in the first place. Coming into this you all knew our training program had a seventy-percent mortality rate, and look at the thirty of you now. Champions.”

The trainees looked at each other through the helmets. Even though they couldn’t see other faces, they knew what each looked like.

“Some of you, unfortunately, will likely die today. Bittersweet, I know, it being the day of graduation, but if you want to make it, you need to be the best. The frontier doesn’t hold any punches. Rather you die here, than in the hands of an IMC pilot.” She takes a step towards the entrance of the gauntlet. “The par time for today is two minutes. As I said before, no utilities. There are twelve targets within the gauntlet today, so aim sharp. It’s the same as before. You’ll have a few chances to practice, then the test will take place. Remember, the hazards out here are _real_ , and you know how much I like writing death reports. Arm up, and good luck.”

The hologram fizzles away, leaving the thirty trainees in the room alone. Few begin to shuffle over to the weapon racks, equipping themselves with the necessary tools.

Ali turns to Jet, saying, “Well! That was a good briefing!”

“Two minutes, Ali? Two!?”

“Yeah, so?"

“My best time without the grapple is two-oh-four!”

“Huh.”

Jet sighed. “You don’t care.”

Shrugging, Ali admits, “Jet, look. You’re a good pilot, I don’t need to worry about you. Nor do I really have the time. Even though out there we’re working together, in here it’s every person for themselves. We both need to pass, and because of that, you worry about you, and I’ll worry about me. Besides, with a bit of practice you’ll be easily able to shave off those four seconds.”

“I suppose you aren’t wrong.”

She scoffs, “When am I ever.”

She then walks off to the racks. Jet follows, checking his kit’s weapon control systems, before facing the rack. The kit’s systems had improved recently, allowing pilots to carry two weapons, along with a sidearm. He had been training with the high-rate R-97 SMG, and the DMR sniper rifle, along with the P2016 sidearm precision pistol. He reaches for an R-97, before pulling back after Arjun Solis grabs it before him. Solis was an ex-IMC pilot, and he had already received his pilot certification. Because of Militia policy, he was forced to go through the motions again. Jet could feel the glare behind the helmet. He quickly grabs another, passing it over his back to allow the kit to take it. It secures behind his back as he retrieves his preferred DMR.

“Jet! Heads!” Ali says, tossing a P2016 towards him. He quickly tosses the rifle back, his kit accepting and securing it, before catching the pistol in his off hand.

“Ali, what the hell?” Jet yells, baffled as to why she threw a pistol across the room. She holds up the magazine, chuckling, before tossing it over to him.

“Stay on your toes, Harper!” she says back as she runs to the gauntlet.

He sighs, before Debeck nudges his back. “She’s a strange one, yeah? Bet sh-”

“Debeck, please. You ready?”

“Oh. Yeah.”

“..did you eat before this?”

“About twenty minutes ago, why?”

“Alright, see you on the other side.” Jet sighs as he moves to the gauntlet.

* * *

 

Stepping onto the mezzanine looking over the gauntlet, Jet watches as the other pilots soar through the air, bouncing off the walls with little effort. A red-striped helmet flies past, the pilot waving to him as they land on the other side of the gap, laying a few shots into the head of one of the hologram targets. He smiles weakly, before heading down the stairs to his left. The entrance to the gauntlet spilled out before him, waiting for the next trainee to enter. Above him sits a screen with a list of all the other pilot’s times. He can see that Ali already passed, with an impressive time of a minute and thirty two seconds. Also from the board, he can see that two pilots had already been marked as deceased. Fault likely to a failure to check their equipment before their runs.

Jet takes out the DMR, and readies a shot, and his body. After taking the first target out, he would need to immediately start running. He gives his jump kit a final check, and sights in. Crosshairs over the head of a target, he breathes in.. and lets a shot ring out. The target falls, and he takes off. Jumping to a wall, the kit helps him run along it, building up speed. He throws back the longrifle, bringing his SMG out to play. After sailing across the first divide in the course, he slides on his knees, firing a barrage of bullets into the two targets ahead of him. Fifteen seconds. He stands again, running along the course, vaulting over a short barrier, raining a few more shots into another two targets. He takes to the wall again, unpinning a grenade and tossing it below him into the middle of a group of three targets. Landing on an upper balcony, he slides forward, taking a shot with his pistol into the target standing before him. Thirty seconds, and the grenade explodes behind him. Back on the wall, he runs out, taking two shots with the DMR, landing both of them. He looks back, admiring his work, and slides once he hits the ground.

Using the momentum, he catapults himself into the next section, but in his catharsis, he miscalculates his next jump, and slams into a barrier. He flips over it, drops to his knees, and takes off his helmet before coughing up a copious amount of blood.

Fiar comes on over the loudspeaker. “Close, Harper. You were doing impressive work up until you nearly killed yourself. How fast do you think you were going?”

Harper couldn’t look up, but he mumbled weakly “Maybe thirty five kilometers?”

Laughing, Fiar responds, “Close! Forty two.”

Forty two kilometers per hour. That’s a new record, by Jet’s standards. If he kept up that pace he would have easily made the par. Wheezing, he says “Well, that’s good.”

“It is! Now get out of there, Debeck is starting soon.” Jet sighs, and trods to the end of the course, helmet in hand. Fiar meets him at the exit, saying in a soft tone, “Head to the medbay before your next run. I don’t need to lose a third today.” Jet nods, and proceeds down the corridor.

* * *

 

“Seven internal fractures, Trainee Harper. Please lay down on the table.” the Simulacrum hummed in a female voice. “Fiar reported you were travelling forty-two kpm?”

“Supposedly so” mutters Jet as he positions himself on the medical table. The medical simulacrum known as Pom attaches herself to the table, and a few needles protrude from the base on small mechanical arms.

“You are lucky, you know. Polas came in the other day with nine, and today he is in critical condition.”

“Harmony above.. what happened to him now?” He winces as the needles puncture his chest, injecting a serum into him.

“Extreme blunt force trauma to the head. I ran some tests, he was severely intoxicated before making his first run today. I have no theory as to why he decided that was a good idea.” She sighs, “All things I must include in the report. If he doesn't die, he will likely be forced out of the program.” The needles retract, and Jet’s bones quickly begin to re-form. “Have you considered reinforcing your skeleton?”

He shakes his head. “I have, yes. You know my decision on the matter.”

Pom responded with what Jet supposed was a chuckle. “That I do. You should be all set now.”

Jet shifts to his feet, stretching his now-repaired torso. “Thank you, Pom.” She nods, and as Jet leaves the room she wishes him a good day and for the odds to be in his favor.

* * *

 

“Jet!” a voice rings out, as a person falls on him. Of course, it was Ali, with her helmet attached to her hip. “Did you see me?”

He chuckles, pushing Ali off of him. “Assuming no one stole your helmet, I did. Impressive time.”

She smiles, remarking “Yep! The real world’s gauntlet is quite different from the simulated one. It’s quite a bit longer, I’m surprised I got that time.”

As he starts to walk, he responds “Ah, yeah. I was surprised to see the times from so long ago on that board.”

“What, the ones from two years ago? With Lastimosa and Cooper?”

“Well, yes,” The two enter the mezzanine once again. “Thirty three seconds for Cooper?”

“Remember, Jet, this course is twice as long. After all-”

“-the Militia demands greatness in these times of need. It’s why the par remained unchanged but the course is longer.”

Ali nods, patting Jet’s back. “Arm up again, Jet, you’ve got this run!” He smiles weakly, heading down the stairs once again. He grabs the weapons he set aside before, checking their ammunition.

“Making the run again?” a voice echoed. Jet tenses up, and slowly turns around to a black, blood-spattered helmet.

“Solis, yes.”

He scoffed. “I saw your wipe out before. Better tighten that up if you hope to pass.”

Jet sighs, “Of course,” he pulls out the magazine of the R-97, replacing it with a new one before letting his kit take the rifle. “I need to tighten up a lot of things.”

“Here’s some advice from a frontier-hardened pilot, kid. You get one mistake. If that mistake _doesn’t_ kill you, you’re the luckiest pilot alive.”

“Understood.”

Solis nods solemnly. “You’ll be fine,” and walks off up the stairs. Jet turns to the time board, reading the list again. No more dead pilots, and seventeen more successful passing times. Solis was at the top of the list, with a time of forty seconds flat. Jet takes his helmet off of his belt, securing it to his head, readying himself once again. He raises his DMR, preparing the first shot of his second run of the day. He shifts his weight, and pulls the trigger.


	2. Neurons and Neurodes

“Initiates. Three months ago I brought ninety of you under my wing. Today, twenty eight of you remain. That is most impressive, and you should all be proud of yourselves. I am happy to say that all of you passed the gauntlet test today. We’re moving on to the titans, but I need you all to follow me before we get to that. Fiar out.” 

A holographic guide appears ahead of the squadron of to-be pilots, and they all follow. Jet stays near the back, observing the pilots ahead of them. The best way to tell how a pilot is like is by their helmet. Ali’s red stripe, Jet’s wolf, Solis’ blood spatter. Scanning the group, he sees smoke, symbols of luck, and some strange symbols he doesn’t quite understand. The group continues to a lift, and the door closes behind them. As the lift rises, the trainees look around at each other. A mix of worry, excitement, and restlessness cross their faces. A hatch above them opens to the sky, rows upon rows of the most advanced weaponry of the frontier, and their mentor, Commander Fiar.

Fiar beams and announces, “Helmets on, Pilots. We aren’t using sim-pods today. Today, you will receive your pilot link. Please step forward as your name is called.”

Jet glances up over to the rows of titans as pilots were called out alphabetically. Eighteen foot tall mechs, with varied sets of weapons and utilities. There were twenty eight of them ready to accept their new roles and pilots. Each titan has their own personality, their own intelligence, and their own story, held in a data core on-board the chassis. Each titan lumbered over one by one, as their assigned pilot received their certifications.

“Pilot Jet Harper.” Fiar says, Jet snapping to attention. He walks forward, seeing she holds a large knife, and a strange glass-topped mechanical cylinder. “Pilot Harper. This is your data knife. As you know, each pilot carries one, linked to their titan and their helmet. Many devices on the frontier have ports to access using these, so it is said that you will find use of this to be very valuable. As for this,” she holds out the canister to him, and he accepts it in his palm. “Is your titan’s core. Please read out the serial number on the side.” 

Jet looks down, marvelling at the device he was holding, before reading out “Titan XC-3254.” And a titan breaks rank, walking towards them. From where he was standing, Jet can see his assigned titan was a Vanguard Class. He makes out the shape of an XO-16A6 chain gun, and a rocket rack on the back. The titan approaches, kneeling down, reaching out a giant, mechanical hand, and the empty data-core slot of its chassis. 

Fiar gestures towards the socket. “So, Pilot?” She flips the knife around, offering the grip to Jet.

He moves forward, accepting the knife, sheathing it into the designated pouch of his uniform. He steps up on the Titan’s hand, gripping the core he holds. He positions the device, and presses the core into his titan’s slot.

The Titan rears back, the socket’s optical shields rotating, calibrating its new specifications. “Pilot Harper, I am XC-3254. Vanguard class. Expedition loadout. I have a good feeling we will become an effective team.” the Titan projects, the ‘eye’ showing Jet it is sincere.

He stutters, responding, “Hello, XC.”

“I am ready to establish the pilot-titan link. Please embark when ready.”

Jet steps back, and runs up the arm of his new titan. XC’s cockpit opens, accepting Jet into the cavity. The hatch closes, shutting Jet in a padded, viewport-less cockpit. Surrounded by navigation, weaponry, and backup control platforms, he settles into the pilot’s chair. His titan’s voice echoes throughout the chamber. “Establishing Titan Neural Link.” 

Through his helmet, Jet sees brilliant green rays of light, before a blinding flash, and new feelings of belonging. As if he was now part of something truly larger than himself. Not a movement, like the day he joined the Militia. Not when his planet was turned to a scrapyard. But as if he was close to something in a way he never felt before.

“Neural Link Established. Pilot Jet Harper, you have now been confirmed as the pilot of XC-3254. Protocol 1 has been completed. Link to Pilot established.” He can feel XC rise to her feet. Not how  _ anyone _ would feel like they’re moving, say in a ship, but as if  _ he _ was moving. “Preparing Protocol 2: Uphold the Mission. No mission currently assigned.”

Jet cockily responds, “Well, that’s good.”

“Inaccurate, Pilot. It is your duty to uphold the missions of the Militia, as it is mine.”

“XC, it was a joke, don’t worry. I’m excited to get to work!”

“Noted. Preparing Protocol 3: Protect the Pilot. Visual systems engaging.” The padding in front of Jet flickers to life, displaying the area around them in full view. As a surprise to him, it  _ was  _ the display. He can tell that the Titan moved away from the rest of the group, to fall in line with the other pilots who have already received their links. XC continues, “No threats detected. Preparing to receive new orders.”

Jet pauses for a few moments, then pats at the controls impatiently. “So..”

“Yes, Pilot?”

“We’re just, waiting, now.”

“Correct. The rest of the Pilots in your class have to receive their titans. We will likely begin with in-titan training.”

“What does that entail?”

“Most likely, a large ‘gauntlet’. As I’ve been told, you ran one earlier today.”

“Well, that’d be right, we had to qualify.”

“In addition, I am sorry for your fallen friends.”

“It’s to be expected.” Jet sighs, and leans back in the seat.

XC pauses, giving her external systems a visual check. “Pilot Jet, after this training, we may paint the exterior of my chassis. I noticed you had a symbol on your helmet. Perhaps it would be a good idea to symbolize our linking by painting the same symbol.”

Jet sits up a bit. “That... would be nice, I suppose. We’ll work on that.”

A titan lumbers over to them, in an oddly familiar way. Their chassis opens, Ali jumping from the cockpit, onto her Titan’s hand. XC opens up as well, grabbing Jet.

“Hey, whoah!” Jet exclaims as he is being brought out.

“Pilot, please stay calm. You must get used to me handling you.”

Ali yells “Jet! Let me introduce you to CA-1876!”

Jet stabilizes himself on XC’s arm. “Hello there, CA and Ali.”

The titan hums in a male tone, “Hello Pilot Harper.”

Ali rises up, asking “So, will you introduce us?”

Confused, Jet looks around, back to his Titan, the question finally hitting him. “Oh! Ali, this is XC-3254.” His titan waves, and Ali waves back before hopping back into her titan, the hatch closing behind her.

“Ready for  _ actual  _ Titan training?!” Ali exclaims.

“Sure, Ali. XC and I are ready.”

XC straightens up, “I can confirm that sentiment.”

A titan walks forward, to face the group of new Pilots. Fiar disembarks, moving to stand on her Titan. “Hello again, Pilots. This was your surprise. Congratulations! You should’ve all completed your links by now, and that means that we are ready to begin the Titan training. Follow me.” With that, Fiar embarks, her titan turns on its heel, and begins walking out of the training facility.

 

* * *

 

The thunderous sounds of Titan footsteps rock the forest surrounding the training facility. XC rushes past a row of trees, stripping branches and leaves from them. “Five hundred meters from the objective, Pilot” she announces to Jet, as she vaults over a fallen tree.

“Gotcha, XC. Do you have any utilities like my jump kit to assist movement?”

XC responds with a scoff, “Pilot, my chassis is multiple tons. You are..” She pauses.

Concerned, Jet asks, “XC?” as they jump over a small divide.

“You are sixty seven kilograms.”

“Yes?”

“I am preemptively ordering extra rations for our first deployment.”

Jet chuckles. “Alright, XC.”

“My point is you are vastly lighter than I am. There are no propulsion systems that would support movement like that for a body my size.”

“I see now why that might’ve been a bad question.”

XC skids to a stop at the edge of a cliff. “We’ll discuss this at another time. The objective is down this cliff.”

Jet disembarks, then walks to the edge. “Where is everyone else?”

“We left before the rest of them, and we had quite a high average velocity.”

“Ah. How far down is this?”

“Calculating. One hundred meters. Too far for your kit to compensate for.” XC walks to the edge, looking over it. “My chassis could survive the fall with little to no damage.”

“Will I be alright?”

“You should be. I calculate a 95% chance of survival.”

Jet backs up from the edge, and climbs XC’s body, sitting on the top. “What about that five percent?”

“Minor bone fractures to massive head trauma. To uphold the mission, this is the most effective way” XC explains. Jet sighs, then embarks XC. “Are you ready, Pilot Harper?”

Jet takes a deep breath. “Ready.”

XC takes a few steps back, and runs off the cliff, taking a jump at the end. The titan careens down, hanging for a few solid seconds in the air. She lands, with a thunderous crash, creating a large crater. “Titanfall complete.” XC stands, raising her rocket pods and XO-16 rifle. “Scanning for hostiles. Pilot, are you alright?”

“I am alright. We should move, there should be more titans coming down this cliff, right?”

“Yes, that is cor-” XC is interrupted by another large crash, twenty meters away. It was Ali and CA, the titan waving to Jet and XC. “-rect. Hello CA-1876.”

“We’re racing them to the objective. How far away is it from here?”

“Pilot, I must advise against that, it is best to proceed with caution” XC warns, as they begin running towards the objective. “Pilot!”

“Two hundred meters?” Jet asks, controlling the titan, rushing through the forest, crushing fallen trees beneath their feet.

XC responds with what Jet assumes to be a sigh. “Yes, pilot. I will maintain to uphold Protocol 3. Expect short stops.”

“Understood, XC. Can you tell me how close Ali and CA are to us?”

“No need!” a male voice rings. It was CA, with Ali inside. “We’ve accepted your challenge.”

XC exclaims “Pilot, river ahead!” and skids to a stop, CA following suit. Across it, a titan stands, with a pilot sitting on the chassis. It was Commander Fiar, lounging, with helmet off, waiting for the trainees to arrive.   
“Hello Pilots! Feel free to disembark, and wait for your brothers and sisters.”

XC backs up, scanning the area. “Pilot, I am continuing to scan for hostiles. I will alert you if any are detected.”

With that, Jet disembarks and watches other Vanguard titans assemble on the riverbank. Debeck, Solis, Williams, Gamm, then the twenty-odd other titans and pilots arrive. Fiar beams as her class stands ahead of her, clearly proud of their success.

“Pilots, you have made it this far. I want you to know that I am excited to see the newest force in the Militia out here, ready to take on the Frontier. You’re about ready to be deployed, and to that end, it’s time to try your skills in a live-fire test.”

With that, sixteen various IMC titans crash down the trees behind Fiar. The commander embarks, and crosses the river. “Twenty eight of you, against sixteen titans. Good luck.” Fiar runs back, clearing the line of fire.

The Militia titans ready up, loading their XO-16’s. Solis’ titan steps forward, his voice echoing through their helmets. 

“Militia, vortex shields up!” he announces, and the pilots follow, titans raising their arms, projecting an energy field. At that moment, a barrage of rockets erupt from the IMC titans, as they disperse throughout the forest. The fields capture the rockets, holding them in a sort of stasis.

“Disperse, throw their munitions back at them!” Solis orders, his titan disappearing into the foliage. Fifteen militia titans disperse, releasing their captured payloads. The remaining titans hold the front line. In that is XC and Jet, scanning for hostiles.

“Alright, Pilots, let’s advance. Keep your weapons armed, your rocket pods ready.” Jet announces to his makeshift-squadmates. XC walks forward slowly, cautiously flickering their mechanical eye across the terrain. In the distance, three large explosions ring out.

“Pilot, three hostiles down. Thirteen remain.” She raises a fist, the following titans stopping in their tracks. “CF-3654, VZ-2214, BH-8955, disperse. Double up.” As she commands, three titans break rank, and three more follow.

“Flanking?” Jet asks.

“More to go assist the others. If there are three down, it is likely that we will encounter five. Thirteen titans is exces-” a crash interrupts XC.

“Pilots, weapons up, open fire!” Jet commands, raising the XO-16 and laying shots into the trees ahead of them. Four other Militia titans follow suit.

“Four confirmed hits, pilot.” XC explains. “Preparing acolyte rocket pods.”

Ali shouts “Hostile titans! Four of them! Tone class!” as the trees fall, and four titans reveal themselves. Two more explosions echo throughout the forest, and the battlefield turns to mayhem. The militia titans disperse, as the enemy Tones focus their fire on a singular titan. Jet moves to defend, raising the vortex shield, capturing most of the 40mm shells.

He pauses, then asks XC “Er.. which one do we target?”

Debeck’s titan crashes into one of the Tone, and XC answers “It seems Pilot Debeck has chosen a target.” She drops the shield, throwing the shells back at the Tone. “Locking acolytes.”

As they fight the group, it becomes more and more separated. As Debeck and Jet lay into the enemy titan, more and more smoke and flames begin to pour out. XC announces “Pilot, the enemy titan is doomed. An execution may be performed to expedite the destruction.”

Jet rears back, directing XC to perform a melee attack. As he does, his titan breaks into the enemy hatch, grabbing what he assumed would be the enemy pilot. Instead, a computer core is extracted; XC looks at it for a moment, then crushes it in their palm. As she does this, Debeck’s titan kicks over the now empty shell, and an explosion rings out.

Panting, Jet questions XC, “What.. was that?”

“A training drone,” Debeck’s titan answers.

XC nods. “EF-4398 is correct.” Six more explosions ring out across the forest. “I am detecting twenty eight Militia titans, and thr-” Another explosion. “Two drones remaining.”

“I count one.” EF explains, before another explosion rocks the area.

“Well, where is the last one?” Jet asks, as a call comes in over the radio from Ali.

“This is Ali Tramea, requesting assistance. We’ve encountered a Legion class titan! I am transmitting coordinates now!”

XC begins to run off, yelling “This way!”

 

* * *

 

Twenty minutes later, Fiar calls the pilots on their radios. “Great job, pilots. Come to this location, and please hustle. There’s a dire matter that must be addressed.”

As XC assist’s Ali’s titan off of the ground, Jet disembarks, and sits on her chassis. “What do you think that could be?”

“Voice pattern analysis implies stress” XC begins to explain. “I suspect she’s not too excited about the news we will be receiving.” CA-1876 rises to their feet, beginning to walk towards the coordinates. Ali disembarks, mimicking Jet’s position on her titan.

“I think she could just.. Hm. I guess I don’t know. By the way, Jet and XC, thanks for helping us out of that jam.”

CA reaffirms her feelings, saying “I concur with Pilot Tramea. An internal structural analysis indicates I am in need of massive repairs. It is good that you came when you did.”

Jet removes his helmet, and smiles. “You can thank XC for that. She was the one who made the call to rush out.”

“Pilot, I must encourage you to put your helmet back on. We do not know when danger may be near.” XC chirps in a concerned tone.

Jet pauses to think, before dropping back inside his cockpit, saying “I suppose you’re right.” before donning his helmet. 

“Thank you, Pilot. I am happy to inform you that our combat effectiveness rating has increased to ten percent.”

Concerned, Jet questions “Only ten?”

“Correct. You and I have only been linked for around two hours. This is quite an impressive statistic for that amount of time.” Jet sits back, pleased with his new-found competence. “Don’t get too sure of yourself, Pilot.”

Laughing, Jet responds “I won't, XC.”

The two titans reach an opening on the edge of a cliff, with Fiar, and the twenty six other titans waiting. “Ah, XC-3254, CA-1876, Pilot Harper, and Pilot Tramea. I am glad you found your way. If all pilots could disembark and join me, I have a briefing to give.”

And with that, all pilots joined Commander Fiar on the ground, their titans taking up defensive positions.

“Pilots, today you received your pilot’s certification. Usually, you would receive time planetside to bond with your titan before being put on active duty.” She turns, looking at the view, her helmet opening up to reveal her face. The group, for the first time, could see the face of their mentor. She seemed deeply troubled, under the cracked, scarred, and bruised skin. “I.. regret to inform you all that you will not be getting this time. Transport ships are enroute to escort you and your titans to the MCS Emslie, to transport you to your first mission. You will receive more information during the transit. They will be here within five minutes.” She faces the group again, explaining, “Say your goodbyes to the planet- it’s likely you’ll never be back. Pilots dismissed” before closing her helmet, and embarking her titan.

Jet walks back to XC, allowing her to pick him up. She places him on the top of her chassis, asking “Pilot, you seem distressed.”

“Well..” Jet begins, before XC interrupts.

“My directive has been updated. I understand why you are uneasy.”

Jet chuckles. “Alright. Are you ready?”

“Is that concern for me I hear in your voice?”

“I just want to be sure we’ll be operating to our best potential.”

“I assure you, we will be.” Jet smiles at XC’s reassurement.

 

* * *

 

Within twenty minutes, the group had broken the atmosphere of the planet they had called home for the past number of years, and approached their new temporary home aboard the Militia carrier known as the Emslie. It was one of the few large militia ships brought into the force after Operation Broadsword took the James McAllen and the Braxton. Named for one of the great commanders of the Battle of Demeter, the Emslie was quite possibly the greatest ship the Militia could muster. It has the capacity to assault a planet without any true backup. 

As the titan transports approached, the new Pilots could tell that wouldn’t be the case. Two Militia destroyers flanked the carrier, as well as a countless number of Crow dropships. Whatever this operation was, it was large enough to require twenty eight new titans, and destroyer support. As the transports landed aboard the Emslie, the commander greeted his new crew members on the arrival deck. 

“Hello, Pilots. I am Captain Erikson of the MCS Emslie. Welcome aboard, and to the Eleventh Militia Fleet.”

His greetings were met with salutes, mumbles of approval, and the unblinking interest of the new titan arrivals.

“Let me introduce myself, and the fleet,” Erikson begins to walk across the hangar, with the pilots following. “This is the smallest, fastest, and quite possibly the hardest hitting fleet the Militia has assembled. Especially with the fact we’ve received you all. We have twelve other pilots aboard, and ten spare Titan chassis's. That’s a force of forty titans, and according to the mission, we’re going to need all of you.” As he explains, some transport ships escort these Titan husks overhead. “We will be departing soon enough, but I should escort you to your mission briefing. Please, follow me.”

The pilots, for the first time since linking, leave their titans to find their own holding area. The group continues down a corridor, some idly discussing the day’s events with each other. Jet observes the walkway they were traveling down, and the grunts passing them. Lugging munitions and other equipment all contained within their own containers up and down the hall, everyone seemed busy. 

“As you all know, with the death of Sarah Briggs, the Marauder Corps needed a new leader. Today is their first mission, along with yours.” Erikson leads them to an anteroom, with a person standing in the center. “Pilots, meet the new Marauder Corps commander, James Slater.”

The man salutes the pilots, saying “Hello, pilots. Please, take a seat. The briefing will begin in a moment.”

An air of uneasiness fills the room, as they take to their seats.


	3. Gods of the Sky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Pilots experience their first Titanfall, and their first mission.

“Pilot, you’re getting paint on the deck.”

“I’m aware XC, I’m almost done.”

Jet hangs by the ceiling near XC’s chassis, secured by a harness. A small drone holds a can by him, as he dips a brush into the blue paint. Ali paces back and forth below, CA in the next Titan bay over.

“So, let me get this straight,” Ali begins. “We’re assaulting a base on the moon?”

As he traces a line on his titan’s chassis, Jet responds, “Apparently. Don’t you remember the briefing?”

“Of course I do. I just don’t know how we’re going to do it.”

Jet reloads his brush. “Worried about how we’re going to breathe? Our helmets can accept external oxygen tanks, remember? Plus, the place where we’re dropping has a shield over it.”

“The IMC has developed that technology?”

Jet lowers the harness, and continues to paint his helmet’s pattern. “It’s like how hangars are protected. It’s not that new, I’d say.”

Ali stops, and looks up at Jet. “Still. Titanfall onto a moon? That’d have to be a first for the Militia.”

“Mhmm. It’ll also be the largest single titanfall; Apparently we’re dropping all forty titans.”

“Must be important, then.”

Jet finishes the pattern, and lowers himself to the floor. He disconnects the harness, and steps back from XC.

She attempts to look down, but her eye simply couldn’t. “Pilot, do you have some sort of reflective device?”

Jet cranes his neck, searching around for something to show off his work. “Er.. Ali, you see anything?”

She’s already riding a lift to the upper catwalk, and she shouts down “Nope, but I’ll look over here for it!”

XC looks around as best she could from the restrictive titan bay. “Pilot, maybe check with Debeck or Solis?”

CA pipes up, asking XC, “You are aware you can see what your pilot sees, yes? Establish a visual link to his helmet.”

Clearly flustered, XC sputters in her mechanical tone for a moment. “Pilot, I’m patching into your optics. Please view my chassis.”

Jet laughs, walking back over to XC, and looking up at the symbol he painted.

“Very nice, pilot.”

Jet bows, then walks over to a lift to bring him up to Ali’s level. “We know an ETA on our arrival?”

“The mission log states that we should be there in less than one standard Harmony hour” XC chirps.

Jet sits on the catwalk, watching the other titans in their bays. There were three others on his side of the ship, and five on the opposite. The dropship they are stationed in is one of four that will break from the Emslie to approach the moon. Each squadron contained seven of the new pilots, and three veterans. As Jet sat, he saw grunts hauling munitions to each of the titans, exchanging batteries, reloading rockets, and some others providing general maintenance.

Suddenly, Captain Erikson’s voice is projected throughout the hangar bay. “Attention to all crew of the Emslie. We are approaching the first moon of Maia. Titan crews, prepare for transport. All crew to battle stations.”

“Apparently my intel was incorrect. Pilot, please embark when ready.” XC relays.

Jet stands, securing his uniform and helmet, before walking into XC’s chassis. Ali follows suit in CA, as well as the other pilots in the ship. Their squad leader, a veteran pilot by the name of Pandora Ohmni spoke to them over their radios. “Alright, Pilots. Our ship will be the first down there. We _should_ be taking them by surprise, but we all know how Operation Broadsword went down. Our primary objective is to assault the base down there, and secure it. Titan support will only be available on the moon’s surface, but I expect to see all nine of you in that base with me. Does everyone understand?” A chorus of excited affirmations echo throughout the ship. “Awesome.”

With that, the dropship exits the Emslie, followed by one other. They approach the surface quickly, over an area that was clearly covered with a dome shield. This technology, usually implemented in titanfall, was now being implemented in the vacuum of space. It was able to keep breathable air in, but it didn’t solve the low gravity issue.

“Keep your cockpits sealed, pilots. I don’t want any of you dying before we hit the surface” Ohmni assured. Behind the transports flew tens of Crow class dropships, each holding four various riflemen. The Emslie was turning, preparing its drop pods.

The four dropships turn, leveling themselves with the moon’s surface. Ohmni’s voice echoes in the pilot’s helmets. “Prepare for titanfall!”

With that, the floors under each titan opens, dropping their payloads.

 

* * *

 

And, silence.

It was eery, for Jet. Normally he could hear what was going on outside of his titan, but as he dropped slowly alongside the other nine titans, he heard simply nothing for the first time. He was five hundred meters from the surface. Like the calm before the storm, the fall was almost graceful, in a way.

“Pilot, your heart rate has risen quite significantly. Are you alright?” XC chirps. Finally, at four hundred meters, a familiar voice.

“Just anxious, XC. This fall isn’t exactly what I expected for the first time we fall.” Three hundred.

“I assure you, pilot. We will be alright. Prepare for contact.” XC begins to fetch her rifle, and priming her rockets. Two hundred.

“Alright. I’m ready.” One hundred meters, and they’ve broken through the dome shield.

“Contact in three.. Two.. now!” Ohmni timed it out perfectly, with each Titan hitting the surface in a puff of moon dust. In the distance, they could hear the alarms of the base ring to life. “All titans, forward charge! Rocket barrage on my mark!”

XC retrieves her rifle and starts to run. “We’ve got this, XC. Lock turrets.” Jet orders, with XC quickly locking onto her targets.

“Fire away, Pilots! Light them up.”

Each Vanguard let their payload loose, a total of one hundred individual tracking rockets began to fly towards the base. Following that, the titans let loose on their chain guns. Inside the base, the IMC forces scramble to lock it down. Apollo Colony Base wasn’t a military outpost, it was a staging area for some questioned payloads to be delivered to the planet surface. The Militia knew this, and they knew it would be over before they could get any real reinforcements.

The next dropship drops its Titans, and five Crows enter the field, letting their riflemen down onto the surface. The drop pods begin to fly from the Emslie.

“Pilot, a visual analysis of the base implies they’re initiating a lockdown. If we don’t get in quickly to stop it, breaching will become a much larger task” XC relays to the squadron.

Pandora pauses, then asks Jet, “Harper, you’re a grappler, correct?”

Jet, in the middle of letting another barrage out, yells back “You’d be right. What’s the plan?”

Ohmni shouts, “Disembark. XC, prepare for a fastball!”

Jet does they’re told, hunkering down aside XC. A fastball is already an impressive maneuver, but one in low gravity would prove to be very different.

“Fastball ready, Pilot Harper and Ohmni.” XC readies herself, preparing to toss Jet across the surface.

“Ohmni, what do we do?”

“Harper, I hope you don’t expect that forty kpm will be your record. Give XC the end of your hook.”

XC takes Jet’s hook into her hand, preparing to use it more or less as an extension of her arm. Jet takes a step back, concernedly asking “Wait, are you sure? This is insane!”

“Calculated maximum speed will exceed one hundred kpm. Your kit should compensate once you reach the front of the base. You will be alright. Trust me.” XC looks down at her pilot, SMG and rifle on-kit, ready to slingshot him across the moon’s surface. Through their link, she calms Jet, preparing him for the shot. “Are you ready, Pilot?”

Jet takes a moment, explosions and bullets rocking the air around him. He takes a breath. “Ready, XC,” he says with bated breath, taking a few large leaps back, letting the hook’s rope extend to its full length.

As XC begins to swing her arm, Jet breaks into a run, giving him more momentum as he is brought off of the ground. His jump kit fires with all of its might, providing even more speed. As XC winds forward, Jet reaches the apex of the arc, and she lets him go.

He whizzes across the surface at breakneck speeds, the base approaching very, very quickly. He drops into a high-speed slide, his jump kit now putting all power into slowing him down as a dust cloud follows his path. As he approaches, he can see metal shields closing the viewports and entrances of the base. He directs himself towards an open garage bay, dropping even further into the slide to get him closer to the ground, and under the nearly-closed door.

He reaches the garage, and slides under the door, it quickly closing behind him.

Ohmni shouts over the radio, trying to reach Jet. Once he confirms he is in fact still alive, she breaks out laughing. “Pilot, that was the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen! We’re going to continue the assault out here. Look for an override, your data knife should easily be able to hack into the systems to let us in. As soon as we get that open, the base is ours. Good luck!”

Jet takes a breath, and collects himself, before he pulls out his pistol. Attaching a silencer, he contacts XC. “Hey, uh.. Can you tell me where any IMC grunts are, or where a terminal is?”

XC, clearly stressed from battle and slingshotting her pilot across a moon, responds “I am unable to locate personnel, but I can detect that a suitable console is within eighty meters of your current location. Stay safe, Pilot.”

Jet walks silently to the inner door of the garage, peeking around the corner. No one is there, so he continues down the hall. As he walks past the empty research rooms, it seems that as the attack thundered outside, everyone evacuated deeper into the base. Overturned chairs, broken shards of glass, and books were strewn across the lab and hall. He steps slowly through the dark hall, pieces of glass crunching under his boots.

“Pilot, I’ve patched into your optics to monitor your progress.” XC chirps through his headset.

Startled, Jet clutches his chest. “Oh! XC, my god! Give me a notification tone or _something_ before scaring me like that again..”

“I apologize, Pilot. I contacted you to tell you we’ve secured the exterior of the base.”

Surprised, Jet continues down the hall, pistol raised. “That’s interesting, that didn’t take too long at all.”

“Your observation is accurate. There were no real external defense sentries. You need to make haste, we do not have much time before reinforcements arrive. Pilots are ready to breach once you open the doors. That being said, be cautious. The base is known to hold a small Spectre force. ”

“Oh, I have been, XC.” He peeks a corner, before rounding it wholly.

“Remember pilot, you can use your data knife to hack them.”

“Ah.” Jake unsheaths his knife, holding it below the P2016 he held in his on-hand. “Thank you.”

“The console is in the next room. When you begin the hack, be sure not to stop it. It could end up failing, and we’d need to find another port.”

“Noted. Entering the room now.”

As he does, he hears the mechanical chitter of a squadron of Spectres. He sticks to the wall, trying to figure out a way to reach the console without attracting attention. He takes a side staircase up, edging closer and closer to the console as the spectres scan below him, Volts raised and ready. He reaches down, and shuts off his jump kit, and retracts his helmet to reduce his heat and light output. Without the overlay of his helmet, he loses his guidance and support systems. He inches over to the console, the light of the screen reflecting off of his irises. The spectres below round a corner, spreading across the lower floor.

_Alright.._ Jet thinks to himself. _This keyboard is just asking for me to get caught._ He examines the console’s case. _No obvious port for a data knife.. Maybe.._ He crouches down, putting the knife against the base of the keyboard, jabbing it underneath. To his surprise, it disconnects from the base. _Aha!. Okay._ He lifts the board on its apparent hinge to reveal a data knife-sized slot. He squeezes the base of the knife, and an external data strip protrudes from the knife base. He jabs it into the console, and a dial on the top begins to count down.

At that moment, the spectres all turn audibly towards the stairs. Knowing he had to leave the knife, Jet takes up a position around the corner, pulling out his R-97, holstering the pistol. He activates his helmet, the display flickering to life in front of his eyes. He flips the jump kit on as the bots begin climbing the stairs. He cocks the SMG, and prepares himself for his first real fight.

The first spectre up the stairs immediately notices the console in its currently hacked state. It rushes over, and right as it was about to pull it out, Jet lets loose a rain of bullets into its mechanical skull. It was time to move. He takes to the wall, jumping across the gap in the room. The spectres, humanoid mechanical droids programmed to kill, track his movements, letting loose shots from their Volt rifles. Jet ducks, sliding, dropping a few shots into a spectre at the bottom of the stairs.

He spins, smashing the buttstock of his rifle into the head of an adjacent bot. As he stands, he empties the clip into a bot across the room. He throws back the R-97, grabbing the DMR. He pulls the slide back, and runs back to the staircase. Once he reaches the top, he sees the knife’s timer run out, showing the hack had been completed. He lets out a sigh of relief, as a shot hits his shoulder.

“Pilot, you’ve been hit?” XC asks in a highly concerned tone.

Sinking shots into the three remaining Spectres on the upper floor, Jet responds “I’m alright, XC. I’ve found those spectres.” He runs to the console, yanking the knife out, letting the keyboard fall back into place.

“The doors are still closed, but I see you’ve completed the hack. Finish clearing the room, and the pilots will be there soon.”

“Understood!” Jet shoots his grapple down the center opening in the room, attaching it to one of the spectres. It reels back, pulling the robot towards him on the upper floor. As it reaches him, he rears back with the data knife, shoving it deep into the socket on the back of the spectre’s head. The timer winds down, and the lights on the bot shift from red to blue. Jet drops the mechanical soldier, it taking fire against its former comrades.

Jet turns back to the console, checking the progress on the breach. He watches, through the screen, as his fellow pilots enter the base. He breathes a sigh of relief, and hears the last enemy spectre sputter to death.

Thunderous steps of nineteen pilots echo through the halls, finally reaching Jet’s room. He hops down the center, the hacked Spectre standing at attention as the pilots file in. Ohmni walks forward, clapping Jet on the shoulder. “Very nice job, Harper!”

“Just doing my job.”


End file.
